


french press

by volna (seductrce)



Series: tumblr prompts: shadowhunters edition [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec cooks and Magnus smiles a lot and they love each other, Domesticity and shit like that, M/M, fluffy and sweet and terrible, there's kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductrce/pseuds/volna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With every quiet barefoot pitter-patter step down to the kitchen, the smell, still delicious, grew more distinguishable. Pancakes. Bacon. Coffee, over all of it, freshly ground beans. His boy knew how to make mornings. [...] Resigned, Magnus sighed. The ones he got to spend nowadays had been worth the wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	french press

**Author's Note:**

> [ANONYMOUS ASKED:](http://dearestalec.tumblr.com/post/148202481072/honestly-im-such-a-slut-for-domestic-malec-like)  
>  honestly im such a slut for domestic malec like magnus waking up in the morning and finding alec in the kitchen making panckakes in boxers with a spoon in his mouth and magnus just drops a kiss on his shoulder with a "good morning sweetheart" and magnus walks away to sit on the chair but alec catches his wrist all pulls him back for a proper kiss that's tender and chaste and murmurs "morning, love" and just... domestic malec  
> \--------------------------------  
> Don't call yourselves sluts, kids, but other than that: holy shit do I agree (can you believe pre-malec I wasn't the biggest fluff fan? And now I'm like......dead lol???)

It was probably the smell that woke him.

With a deep inhale like an inward yawn, Magnus blinked his eyes open. Seconds passed as he stared at nothing, breathing slowly into the silence.   
Semi-dark, the room around him suggested time was merely a concept: it could have been six in the morning or three in the afternoon; it felt like some time between eight and nine, maybe. Sunday, Magnus remembered.  Not that that really mattered.  
Sliding a hand over the smooth sheets until his arm was all stretched out reaffirmed what he had known the moment consciousness had brushed its wings against his mind. The mattress was holding just the barest remnant of warmth, kept by the blanket. Alec was gone.

The place smelled like heaven if heaven was breakfast. With a drawn-out sigh that was more of a hum, Magnus let his arms and legs pull at the sleep-tight muscles and joints, stretching before rolling over once and over again, wrapping his lower half up in the sheet until he was lying face-down on Alec’s side of the bed, nose pressed into his pillow.   
Their bed, and Magnus still loved the sound of that even in thought, usually smelled fresh like spring and otherwise, like them. Like nothing he could pull apart unless he really tried, like clean sweat and worn-thin detergent and faintly, sex.  
Alec’s pillow, though, and it was his, a favorite of the bunch he had claimed on his fourth night in Magnus’ bed after a meticulous sorting through and testing of each and every one, held the scents of all that and more. It smelled, simply, like Alec.

Magnus inhaled deeply. It was almost as good as the real thing. Agonized, he groaned at the tight fondness in his chest, a muffled sound against the plush, and folded back onto his spine, vertebrae pressing into the mattress. How the hell did this happen to him.

Somewhere in the apartment, a hollow object of round form, and by that Magnus meant a stainless steel bowl from his WMF 2014 collection, fell to the floor with clanging that was quelled tout de suite, from one second to the next. It sounded suspiciously like a foot placed on top of it to stop it from rattling over the kitchen’s stone tiles. Magnus’ eyes narrowed.

Tearing the sheets from him, he got up.   
A snap here, a flick of wrist there, his boxers were on, the bed was made; pillows piled themselves into aesthetically pleasing tumbles against the head rest. Not a wrinkle remained in the top cover as it pulled over the breadth and fell to almost sweep the floor, elegant like a ball gown.  
 The walk to the bathroom was quick and efficient, teeth brushed and face cleansed and moisturizer applied and absorbed; sometimes Magnus wondered what he would do without his magic. How did anyone lacking these powers for skin care have enough time to do anything, ever?

Re-entering the bedroom, he was faced with a theoretical choice and, discovering it not even being one, decided against a different silk robe. It was Sunday, after all. There were better days to look well-dressed out of bed.

With every quiet barefoot pitter-patter step down to the kitchen, the smell, still delicious, grew more distinguishable. Pancakes. Bacon. Coffee, over all of it, freshly ground beans. His boy knew how to make mornings. And morning it was, as the weak sun, shining in through high windows, revealed. Of course he had been right in his estimation. How else could it be, after so many of them. Resigned, Magnus sighed. The ones he got to spend nowadays had been worth the wait.

Arriving in the kitchen doorway, Magnus crossed his arms, leaned against the frame and watched, with fond amusement, Alec’s attempt at flipping two dough cakes at once, a spatula in each hand, spoon jammed between his lips, brows - as far as Magnus could tell - furrowed in concentration.  
 A second passed. Another. Then, with a simultaneous flick of both wrists, the pancakes flipped and landed, perfectly, back on the griddle. Alec made a triumphant sound, muffled around the spoon. Magnus smiled.

There was music playing from the player he had installed specifically for this very purpose - an esoteric early morning synth pop mix of deep beats and happy moods.  
 Carefully, Alec checked the underside and, satisfied, slid the pancakes out onto a plate sitting on the portable plate warmer before pouring more batter onto the hot cast-iron surface.   
Magnus’ forest green robe fell, fluid like waterfall, down Alec’s shoulders and back, ending, instead of mid-thigh, a few inches up north, not completely covering his swaying ass.  What a good morning, indeed.

Pushing off the doorframe, Magnus padded over quietly to not disturb the carefree humming and irregular off-beat wobbling back and forth. As he got close enough, Alec, ever-vigilant, stifled his movement and Magnus smirked, pushing his lips against Alec’s shoulder. Playfully, he bit down just a little, silk smooth against his tongue, before pulling back.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

The life saver, commonly known as French Press, was, filled to the brim, waiting on the side for the filter push. Just as he wanted to move over, Magnus’ wrist was caught in a strong grip.  
 It was with a twirl like a dance move, really, surprised huff falling from him almost involuntarily, that he stumbled back against Alec, free hand grasping the counter’s edge.  
 Spoon and spatulas were nowhere to be seen.

Alec’s eyes, and Magnus’ chest tightened like every damn morning he got to look into them, stared back into his. A smile pulled across Alec's face, then, like a shooting star; clear and striking, a highlight in dark night.   
Leaning in was necessary and easy as breathing. 

It was a real morning kiss, lips capturing lips and nothing else. Magnus’ hand moved from the counter to sit just above the place where Alec’s torso was cut off by the hem of his boxers, for support only - their chins bumped and Alec pulled back a tad - still smiling - not enough to disentangle their breaths.

 “Morning, love…”

Before he could get too lost, Magnus proded his magic. The pancakes flipped over by themselves. The heat turned off, extinguished flame. Alec didn’t even blink, or budge - ignoring the food, ignoring the stove, ignoring the world. Ignoring everything but them.

As Alec kept looking at him, eyes roaming his face and yet, coming back to meet Magnus’ over and over again, plain adoration of the kind Magnus still had to get used to sometimes, warming his gaze to capture a feeling - tangled-up mornings, intertwined legs, fingers on skin, kisses shared like secrets, private and tender - Magnus thought something was wrong. Or not wrong, but-   
Alec’s free hand - the other now holding Magnus’ in it with the determination of never wanting to let go - came up to cup Magnus’ cheek, stove-warm gentle thumb running across in a soft, careful movement. 

“They are so- you’re so…beautiful…”

That was when, dominos falling in a neat little row to light up a bulb, Magnus finally understood. It was a reflex then that his magic did what he had forgotten to upon waking up. He blinked once, twice, knew it was happening, when Alec, pulling him in, pushed their mouths together roughly - or roughly for a morning tranquil as this, nudging Magnus’ lips apart with his tongue. He tasted, for some reason, like dulce de leche, almost, or maybe caramel.

Like this, Magnus’ bones grew weak and he pressed even closer to hopefully keep standing - they kissed and kissed and kept on kissing, sweet and proper, over and over, focused solely on each other; pulling away after minutes to catch a breath, Magnus was met with a shining grin and a last one, swift, chaste, bare in contact, much like the very first.

“You don’t have to cover them.”

When Magnus spoke, relaxed and at ease and, Hell help him, in love, it was the truth.

 “I know.”

*

“These are good, you know,” Magnus said, pushing another forkful of caramel and chocolate drizzle bacon layered maple syrup pancake cake into his mouth.   
As Alec pushed the refilled, now steaming mug in front of him, a corner of his mouth pulled up.

Carefully, Alec poured some cream in; out of habit, and before he could also stir, Magnus’ finger drew a small spiral into the air and the black of the coffee turned a swirl of creamy beige.   
Leaning in, Alec pressed his lips to the top of Magnus’ head, before settling down on the stool opposite of him, their legs brushing under the bar.

“I know. Don’t tell Izzy, alright? She won’t be able to handle the truth.”

With an eyebrow raised, Magnus chewed and swallowed. Heavens, these were _good_.   
“She doesn’t know?”

Snatching Magnus’ knife from the side of his plate and cutting into his own stack, Alec shook his head.  
“I don’t cook.”

“You didn’t, you mean.”

Alec looked up at that. Their eyes met and again, Alec spent a moment gazing at them instead of into them, as if he kept getting lost on his way to the depths of Magnus’ soul, just for a little while. Something about that made Magnus want to abandon his glamour altogether.

“Yeah,” Alec breathed, before pushing his mouth full of pancake and bacon. He looked ridiculous with his cheeks bulging out like that - a human hamster. Magnus laughed. Reacting with a noise like a snort, Alec chewed and chewed and finally, swallowed.  
“That’s cause it’s us now.” 

Their naked knees bumped. Magnus grinned against the rim of his coffee mug. They kept staring into each other’s eyes across the bar as Alec filled his mouth again, jaw working around a smirk.   
Us. Them. Plural. You and I.

“Love the shirt, by the way.”   
Alec pointed his fork at the worn-out grey t-shirt Magnus had picked up off the bedroom floor that morning, for lack of more adequate garment available, or wanted. It still smelled a little damp like rain, and - as it should, considering whose it was - like Alec. By way of forgiving the stolen silk robe, Magnus bit off half a strawberry and answered.

“Love you.”

Spreading slow and earnest, Alec’s smirk then turned into the warmest smile.

“I love you, too.”

Magnus felt his heart bursting.


End file.
